


In The Commons Room

by ErrorNameNotSeen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Cuddling, M/M, it's cute ok, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrorNameNotSeen/pseuds/ErrorNameNotSeen
Summary: So Harry and Draco don't necessarily hate one another. It's not like that. But did Draco expect for this vague friendship to wind up with a very cute boy sleeping on him? Most DEFINITELY NOT. Is it welcomed? Well, okay, just maybe...





	1. 1

The wind is gentle. The window is opened a fraction. There in an artificial skylight above them shining warm light over the colorful room. The bookshelf, stuffed to an almost breaking point, shined in the light, and pages of loose books rustled. The sound of the pages mingled calmingly with the rustle of the disturb plants, hanging around them. Many of the torches had been put out for the night, but the fireplace raged on, its crackling and dancing oddly soothing. Students sighed, pages turned, the air was warmer and the windows faced the setting sun.  
And there sat Draco, trying to just absorb all of it, remember it forever.  
The weight of Harry’s head on his shoulder, the way his awful, unruly hair tickled his face. The way Draco looked at the sunset, then down at Harry, and couldn’t really tell which was more beautiful. The peaceful look on Harry’s face, as Draco pretended it would last forever. As if it wouldn’t disappear the minute the boy woke up, realizing it was Draco he slept on. Draco pushed away the worry about what to say when the inevitable happened.  
Harry makes a small sound and grabs Draco’s sleeve in his sleep. The blonde smiles and wraps an arm around him. He hums in contentment and restraints himself from leaning his own head on top of Harry’s. All the eighth years had to share a commons room. It was an abandoned classroom of the first floor (second, for Americans), with a fireplace for the Gryffindors, a bookshelf for the Ravenclaws, fuzzy carpet and hanging torches for the Slytherins, and lots of warm lighting and plants for the Hufflepuffs. The huge couches and loveseat were cloth and plush, perfect for a nap in, as everyone knew. But most eighth years had far too horrible of nightmares to actually take naps like normal almost-adults.  
Nonetheless, Harry. Harry fricking Potter. The boy who has actually experienced death, who faced his worst nightmares, who killed He-Who -Voldemort! Who saw his godfather die, who almost saw many of his friends die. You’d think he would never even close his eyes.  
Draco couldn’t stand being still, he needed to do something. Harry’s peaceful face, the tiny smile appearing on his sharp features that was so uncommon. Draco memorized it as well, the way his lips turned up at the corners and revealed the tops of his white teeth. A little dorky, a little drowsy, and Draco would never get enough. So he still needed to move. He started to pet Harry’s hair.  
Upon hearing that they would share a commons and a dorm, both Draco and Harry were taken aback. They didn’t hate each other. It was an understanding, a draw. Although their feud has been childish it was strong, and now they just wanted to move on, but each boy thought the other still hated him.  
When Hermione Granger stormed up to him yesterday, demanding he help Harry study because apparently she couldn’t tutor Harry and Ron anymore - Draco fights a scoff - Draco had been too dumbfound to argue.  
Harry was grudging as well, but Granger had definitely had the same talk with him, because upon Draco’s arrival, Harry only shrugged painfully, and opened his charms book.  
Harry’s breathe ghosted against Draco’s neck, a bit foreign and definitely strange but Draco didn’t move. Draco sighed internally, allowing himself to relax into Harry. But Harry was going to wake up, he was going to wake up, hewasgoingtowakeup. He’d be mad, mad, he’d be mad at Draco for… For what? For nothing. He’d be disgusted, though. Falling asleep on a Malfoy? His childhood nemesis? A goddamn death eater? A person who’d tried, wanted to, kill him. Or, well, Harry could hate him for the very fact that he had bony shoulders. It couldn’t be comfortable.  
Everything that Draco hated about himself he was convinced everyone else hated him for. Draco didn’t know what his mind was doing to him. And now he was tense, and Harry’s sleeping form would notice that. So Draco forcibly relaxed, and he willingly let the panic set in.  
The pinks and golds of the setting sun faded, and someone closed a window. The other eighth years went to bed, oblivious to panic of Draco; or maybe forcefully ignoring it. Someone closed the window, complaining to their friend how cold it was.  
Draco didn’t say that he thought it was a comfortable temperature.  
“Would you like a blanket?” Whispered a something right next to him. Draco did not jump (he lost that reflex when Voldemort moved in, something about his body triggering freeze over flight), but his breath hitched.  
Granger giggled a bit, walking in front of him, a bundle of blankets in her arms.  
She looked down at them, and must have seen the panic in Draco’s eyes, because suddenly her voice became stern, “If you wake him up, I’ll hex you worse than Ginny. That’s the soundest he’s slept in months. Now, take this blanket. It seems you’re sleeping out here tonight.”  
Draco whined a bit, not really saying any words. Hermione hushed him. “And if it doesn’t bother you, leave on the fire. I’ve found it calms him more when he wakes up and sees it than when he wakes up in darkness.”  
He nodded, sighing.  
Hermione softened slightly, “Don’t worry. Draco, he’s a decently sound sleeper, and he won’t be mad at you. I will be, though, if he doesn’t get at least six hours of sleep in. Goodnight, Draco.”  
“Goodnight, Hermione,” He whispers, watching as she walks to her dorm. He looks back down at Harry. Draco tries to recall when they started using first names, it was only recently for sure. Earlier today, Harry had been calling him Draco, but that’s the only time he can remember. And earlier today, Draco had still been calling Harry, Potter.  
“Harry,” He whispered now, into the sleeping boy’s hair to muffle it. No one else could hear it. It was for Harry alone to hear in his dream.  
Harry hummed. His mouth closed. His face nestled farther into his neck, and, as a spur of the moment decision, Draco shifted drastically. He swung his legs up onto the couch, one on each side of Harry but managing not to hit the boy’s legs. Harry whined loudly at the movement.  
Draco petted his arm and shushed him, pulling him down. Harry’s body situated into a comfortable position, his head lying on Draco’s chest now. Quickly, so not to disturb him again, Draco moved to throw the blanket Hermione gave him over them both. After some struggle getting it to cover his feet, Draco was content to lay still and study Harry’s sleeping form in the light of the dancing fire.  
If at all possible, the boy who lived may be even cuter in the dark. His cheeks were full, a bit pink, and one was pressed against Draco’s chest so it was quite adorable. The tip of his sharp nose was a shade darker than usual and looked softer in the lighting. Every sharp feature of Harry looked soft and beautiful in the fire light. Draco was convinced it must be a magic trick. Harry’s usually handsome face was now baby-like and Draco was, what, angry, at how beautiful this boy was; especially considering the fact that Draco couldn’t be with him. Harry had the face right now that you confess your love to. That’s how it works, it’s romantic, it’s guaranteed to be memorable. But Draco couldn’t like Harry.  
Harry was the Hero. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, Who Won The War For Good. Harry was not the boy who dated a villain. That’s not how stories like this go. How they ever go.  
Draco would get politely put down. Not made fun of, or mocked, or laughed at. Harry would give him an awkward look and blush and say he was flattered but I don’t like you like that. Or at all. And Draco died inside just thinking of it.  
“I love you,” He whispered into his hair.  
The boy did not respond.  
And Harry smiled.  
Draco smiled in response, thinking it was a trick of his eye. Harry did not stir.  
Draco fought off a yawn, feeling safe. He relaxed, losing sight of Harry’s stupid pretty face due to the angle, so instead Draco simply studied him. Harry Potter, as a person.  
Pretty when asleep, handsome when awake, beautiful in the light of a fire. Overwhelmingly kind hearted. A bit oblivious sometimes. Sort of clumsy around people he likes, like Ginny, and people he hates, like Draco. Would not insult another person to save his own life. Daring. Chivalrous. Dedicated. Loyal to a goddamn fault. With his stupid scar and his broomstick, Draco let out a breathless giggle.  
He plays with a strand of Harry’s hair, which is getting longer. Draco puts ‘learn to braid’ on his mental to-do list.  
“I really think I love you, Harry,” He whispers, letting the air steal the words away from him. “Harry Potter, I really think I do.”  
Draco dipped into sleep, closing his eyes, still with a hand in Harry’s hair, and he may not have imagined hearing Harry whispering back, “Me too.”  
Draco slept soundly.


	2. 2

Harry cannot sleep. It’s something that has been difficult since he was a child, truthfully. But it’s only worsened thanks to the whole… war thing. How would one hope to describe that? That time as a teenager when I died to save everyone I love? That time the most evil dude ever and his entire posse murdered half my school?  
He shivered. His eyes opened. Nothing was there.  
Wait no. Wait no what is this what’s going on. Who, what, when. And it all comes flooding back.  
His glasses were taken off when he fell asleep. Malfoy. The fire. Hermione, the blanket, Malfoy, homework, studying, Draco, Draco, Draco.  
Him and his pretty face and sharp glare and the way he seemed so wary of everyone, everything. The way he never sat alone but always looked alone and how quiet he was now. Harry had been finding himself missing the jeers. It was something that he had known would always await him when he woke up in the morning and it didn’t anymore.   
He had hated old Malfoy but he never really understood how much he loved him. Even when, as Ron and Hermione tell him, he stalked the boy.   
But none of it really matters anymore. Especially not right now.  
I swear to every god up there, if this is a trick or some fucked up dream I’ll destroy you.  
He could hear the steady heartbeat of the boy who hated him. He knew that the boy was still awake. And he was playing with his hair.  
He didn’t tense at the feeling of Draco’s fingers twisting through his hair. Draco tugged on a small lock so gently it made Harry want to melt.   
Harry relaxed and soaked in every drop of the feeling. He held onto Draco’s side. How had this happened? How had Draco allowed this? Draco flinched from most contact nowadays. Violently, sometimes.   
Harry recalled the second day of eighth year, when Pansy pulled Draco into a side hug as a greeting. The boy had drop kicked her, seemed surprised for a second to have just drop kicked her, then he ran away. Nobody saw him again until the next day, where Pansy apologizes and Draco didn’t speak. Everyone, including Harry, was hesitant around him from then on.   
Harry could remember and also at the same time remember the movement from earlier. Draco had muttered calming “shh, it’s okay”s to him and he could feel the ghost of a cold hand on his arm from where Draco had soothed him. He could remember Draco tossing a blanket over them both, then kicking at it a few times without moving too much. But these memories had the hazy, dream-like factor to them, because certainly Harry was not awake then.  
But why? He could not get the question out of his mind no matter how much he wished to simply savor these sleepy moments innocently.  
Had someone made him? Had he been afraid to move? Was he scared Harry would be mad? But the way the former death eater ran his fingers through his hair so naturally made him think maybe this could be real.  
Draco was too good for him. Harry would break him, drop him on accident and shatter his unbreakable persona. Maybe Harry was the savior of the wizard world and all that mumbo jumbo the press said, sure, whatever, but Draco was a million things more than that.  
A strung out hero and the hero gone unsung completely; they’d destroy each other, right? They would be each other’s trigger, grenade, and demise.  
But that’s not to say Harry didn’t think he was in love with the boy he was asleep on though. And as dumb as Ron (and everyone else in their dorm room) thinks it is, he came to the sure decision awhile ago.   
Only thing is Draco still thought he hated him. And after years with the Dursleys, Harry was an amazing actor.   
Draco’s heart sped up a fraction and stopped Harry’s thoughts in their tracks. Harry kept his eyes closed, feeling Draco lean his head into his hair.  
“I love you,” Draco murmured. It was barely audible. Draco’s breath on his scalp made him shiver. The feeling of Draco pressed close to him almost distracted from what the former death-eater had actually said.   
Later, Harry will say his first thoughts were ones very quick and hard to remember, but they meant nothing but pure joy and love for Draco.   
Really it was one thought, and it had nothing to do with love or joy. Oh no.  
And panic set in again. Harry was not meant to actually hear that. How does he react? Not at all? Say something? He’s make a fool of himself if Draco noticed his tenseness but they’d be equally as embarrassed so maybe it would all work out? Or maybe Draco would hit him like he hit Pansy and they’d never even be friends, much less lovers.   
WhatdoIdo.Fuckfuckfuck. ILOVEYOUTOO?  
Harry did nothing. It was something he did not do well in any other context of life, and it was equally as difficult now.   
“I love you, Harry.”   
Draco repeated it. His voice was honey and caramel and salt, bittersweet and stuffed with so much pure goddamn emotion Harry melted from the inside out. There was guilt in it, too, though it was distant.   
He could feel more than hear or see Draco lean back. The muscles under Harry stretched. Harry’s smile widened.   
Wait, shit, Draco noticed that smile, didn’t he?  
Harry was anxiety ridden and a bit scared of how this would work. He already knew what he was going to do. He’s faced the dark lord and died, so surely this can’t be that bad, right? The majority of his brain, the pessimistic logical side, said yes. That one part that made him actually go into the woods didn’t disagree, but it was louder than logic when it said, ‘Do it anyways.’  
Strange.  
The nerves are there, under his skin. But it’s Draco. The boy Harry knows he’s in love with, so what’s the point in dancing around it? Live knowing he missed the perfect chance to romantically tell Draco he loved him, even if it didn't work out? Who cares?  
And the boy who lived was drunk on courage.   
I’ll wait. To see if he says it again. If he ends up hating me, I want to remember what it sounds like to hear him say he loves me.   
The first time he met Draco, he had insult him, indirectly. From there on, Draco and he had insulted each other, fought, bullied, teased, jeered, almost straight-out murdered one another (Harry had yet to formally apologize for it) and saved each other’s lives. Now, they could be anything. They could be anything. They could work out, they would. Draco wouldn’t be ‘the death-eater boy’ and Harry wouldn’t be ‘the boy who saved them’ and they would be ‘Draco’s date’ and ‘Harry’s date’.   
Draco carded his fingers through his hair and twisted a strand around his pale finger.  
“I really think I love you, Harry,” draco said with an airy giggle. He was practically giddy. “Harry Potter, I really think I do.”  
God, I want to kiss that stupid mouth of yours, making me feel feelings and shit. But Harry waited, as he would for the next few minutes. Not because it was part of his plan, but because he was so enthralled with holding onto Draco’s happy little voice that the plan went out the window the minute Draco’s mouth opened.   
I really think I love you.  
It’s so real.   
Draco is falling asleep.   
Harry, do something. Proclaim your love! Right now, it’s the perfect time!  
‘I love you too,’ Potter, it’s not that hard to say.  
Harry had such a stupid grin on his face that would make Ron ask if he was feeling well.   
“Me too,” He muttered, hoarse and not at all honey like or pretty like Draco’s. He wanted to die of embarrassment the minute the words came out of his mouth. He held onto Draco’s shirt and buried his face in his stomach. But he could feel the content sigh Draco gave as he sank further into sleep. Harry looked up to see Draco smiling like he’d never before seen. Not in their eight years of knowing each other had Harry been more sure he loved this boy.   
“Draco Malfoy, I love you.” But Draco was already asleep, and didn’t hear him. So Harry moved up Draco’s body until his face and Draco’s were close enough.   
Harry rested his forehead on top of Draco’s.   
“Draco, wake up, I love you.”  
He had to lean down only a bit for their lips to meet. When they did, Harry stilled, his brain fried, and he was in completely new territory here with Draco and unsure of what to do.   
So Draco acted for him.

~fin.


End file.
